The Simultaneous Orgasms Of Sarah Pinkerly (FICTOID)
Where the mirror came from, Sarah couldn’t tell.
She found it in the attic of the old family manor where her employers told her to go up and poke around and find anything she might want for her room.
While the family renovated and modernized the rest of the house, they made sure the staff remained acutely aware of their status by living in quarters filled with old furniture not fancy enough to be considered antique but certainly banged up enough to be called used.
As the new nanny, Sarah could expect nothing more. Advanced electronics and other modern technology packed the children’s play and class rooms, but she lived a Mary Popping / Sound Of Music existence in a third floor back bedroom.
Nonetheless, she felt satisfied with her position.
She found the mirror wrapped tightly in canvas secured by a rope, When she untied the bindings and removed the cloth, she saw that while quite plain and unadorned, the mirror appeared quite old, perhaps dating back as far as the beginning of the 19th century or the end of the 18th.
She took it down to her room and set it up in a corner, using it to make sure she looked perfect in her nanny uniform every morning before going to awaken the children.
She didn’t discover its power until weeks later.
She just finished showering and before donning her bedclothes for the night, decided to do a cancer self-exam before the mirror.
As she checked herself for marks or moles or odd little lumps, she felt a strange warmth passing over her, not a feverish feeling but something warm and pleasant, like a cozy quilt on a winter’s night.
Her cancer self-exam turned into a self-exam of an entirely different sort, and once she finished to her own satisfaction, she wondered why she indulged herself.
Sarah Pinkerly was far from prudish, but she wasn’t a sybarite, either.
While she performed her nanny duties in a perfectly professional display of decorum, at night on her own she found herself standing before the mirror again and again.
She couldn’t imagine why she indulged herself so often but since it did no harm nor affected her duties, she continued night after night.
On the other side of the globe on the continent of Australia, sixty thousand Australians found themselves shaking with orgasmic intensity on a regular basis.
All could trace their bloodlines to a young Irish lass transported to Australia long ago. She fell in love with a British army captain and when he returned to England, she gave him a gift of the mirror.
“Stand before it every night,” she told him, “and I will be with thee.”
The Irish had a thing for magic back then.
The captain accepted the gift, shipped it home with him, and promptly stored it away.
He was a British military officer, what did he care about an Irish transportee no matter how fair and loving she was?
The mirror passed down through his family generation to generation, once every twenty years or so somebody taking the cloth off, looking at it, then deciding they didn’t want it downstairs and returning it to the dusty attic.
The Irish lass found another and begat several children, and they begat several children, and so on and so on and so on.
The spell she cast required a drop of her blood, and that forever linked the mirror to her descendants.
As for the captain, he was promoted to major, reassigned to India, and eventually died with his head on a pike and his genitals in his mouth in the mountains of Afghanistan.
Don’t break an Irish lass’ heart.
© Buzz Dixon
